Page 83 of Obsession

Linda smiled at me before her adoring gaze tracked back to Jax. “Isn’t it cruel? How can he be allergic to chocolate?”

“Tragic.” I brushed a hand down Jax’s arm. “Don’t monopolize all her time, huh?”

“I make no promises.”

“Ms. Copeland.”

My spine snapped straight. God, no.

Jax frowned at me. “Everything okay, Grace?”

I leaned in and kissed Jax’s cheek. “It’s fine.”

His hand slid around my wrist to hold me close. “Sure?” he asked in a low voice.

I gave him an easy smile. At least I hoped it looked like an easy smile. Maybe not such a self-important jerk, after all.

I looked over Jax’s shoulder toward the doorway. Blake filled the arched pass-through, his gunmetal-gray suit accentuating just how tall and broad he was.

“I can handle him.” I moved around Jax and lifted my chin.

Whether I was telling him or myself that was the twenty-four-million-dollar question.

“Mr—”

No. No, we wouldn’t be playing that game right now.

Not in my house. The gallery wasmydomain, and I wouldn’t let him intimidate me.

“Blake. What can I do for you?” I walked toward him and continued past him into the next gallery space. “I’m very busy.”

“So, I see. Who is that man?” His gaze was still on Jax. In fact, he hadn’t turned around to follow me.

Rolling my eyes, I kept walking. Finally, I heard his dress shoes behind me. I snatched an iPad off the desk and logged into the gallery’s mainframe. Each virtual room was labeled with a picture of each piece of work.

It was the only thing that ever worked with how much Philomena moved around the pieces. I scanned the room to make sure everything matched so far.

Anything so I didn’t have to look at him.

Why was he here?

How had he found me?

Whyhad he found me?

“Ms. Copeland.”

Ignoring him, I checked off the dozen pieces on my list and walked into the next room. It was a smaller room overlooking the cove. This was the room that housed the best of our offerings at the galleries.

I frowned at the empty pedestal and made a note.

“Dammit, Grace.”

Finally, I looked up at him. Just a few days had made a huge difference. I hadn’t really been able to look at him when he’d surprised me at the house yesterday.

But now, his perpetual stubble had grown into the start of a beard.

The dark hair didn’t soften his chiseled face. In fact, it actually made his jaw seem even more angular. I frowned when I finally noticed the white bag dangling from his fingers. My gaze bounced from it back to his face.

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